


The Power of Touch

by WordsInTimeAndSpace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (nonsexual for Aziraphale at least), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sensuality, Touching, basically just comfort tbh, nonsexual intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsInTimeAndSpace/pseuds/WordsInTimeAndSpace
Summary: Sometimes, a restlessness overcomes Crowley that he can’t seem to shake off on his own. Aziraphale knows a way to help him.





	The Power of Touch

A groan sounds somewhere behind Aziraphale, followed by the rustling of blankets. Aziraphale tries to keep reading, but he can’t help being distracted. Every sound Crowley makes seems to alert his senses these days. Especially when it’s a groan like this one, low and whining and slightly pained. He listens, eyes glancing over the page without taking in any of the words. There’s a sigh as Crowley drags himself upright, then the shuffling of feet as he wanders through the shop, fingers tapping against the spines of the books lining the shelfs. The crinkling of old paper, followed by a thump as he drops the book back to where he found it. And finally a huff as Crowley throws himself back onto the couch. For the moment, it’s silent again. But this exact pattern has happened three times already just this morning, and Aziraphale knows from experience that it will only get worse. He carefully sets down his book on the desk and takes off his glasses.

The demon tends to get restless, in these weeks after the almost-apocalypse. Maybe he also did before, Aziraphale muses. But now that they slipped into the habit of spending all their time together, there’s no hiding it anymore.

Usually, Crowley’s presence in his shop feels so right, so natural, that Aziraphale barely registers it while he’s immersed in work and reading. Now that he’s got nowhere else to be, no havoc to wreak or temptations to perform, Crowley spends his days stretched out on the couch right in the middle of the shop, dozing or skimming through magazines or just providing company while he glares at every customer who dares to enter the shop. Sometimes he even adds a hiss, for good measure. Aziraphale doesn’t mind. He likes it when it’s just the two of them, and even if they don’t talk, Crowley’s presence is a comfort he doesn’t want to miss. On days like this one, however, nervous energy seems to radiate off Crowley in waves that make it impossible for Aziraphale to focus on anything else.

He still isn’t quite sure what causes these moods - maybe it’s the lack of purpose, now that Crowley cut his ties with Hell, maybe the result of a bad night’s sleep, or maybe it’s just 6000 years worth of fears and bad memories that sometimes rise to the surface.

Crowley is splayed out on the couch, his eyes closed. He’s on his back, one leg thrown over the armrest, the other hooked over the back in a way that surely can’t be too comfortable, but doesn’t seem to bother him. Aziraphale smiles as he sits on the other armrest, right beside Crowley’s head. Slowly, he reaches out to rake his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

The touching between them is new as well; another routine established in the past weeks. They’ve never really done this before, but now that they’re sure that Heaven and Hell are leaving them alone, that there’s no one left to object, to condemn them for fraternizing with the enemy, it’s like they can’t stop. For Aziraphale, it happens without a thought. As if he’s drawn to Crowley by an invisible force, the gravity just too much to resist.

Crowley opens his eyes at the first touch. He lets out a hum in the back of his throat and cranes his neck a little, leaning into Aziraphale’s touch. Carefully, Aziraphale takes the sunglasses off. Crowley nudges his hand with his cheek until Aziraphale moves his fingers back to his hair, stroking gently.

Beneath his touch, Crowley immediately relaxes a little. It’s like the anxiety coiling within him slowly drains out of him. His shoulders sag and his legs stretch and his eyes slip closed again. Another groan escapes his lips, but this one is different. This is a pleased groan, a happy little sound that Aziraphale became very familiar with. It’s one of his favourites.

If Aziraphale is honest, he never quite understood touch before. It’s still a foreign thing, something that humans usually want and need, but nothing that celestial beings like him, who don’t necessarily have a corporal form, engage in. He’s never really craved it, not to the degree that Crowley obviously does. But Aziraphale has come to the conclusion that he likes it as well. Touch has a certain kind of comfort to it, a certain kind of intimacy that he greatly enjoys. However, his favourite part of it is how responsive Crowley is to even the most fleeting of touches, how easy it is to draw reactions out of him. It’s nearly addicting, the most exquisite temptation. He craves the sounds he makes, the way he relaxes beneath him, the way he curls closer as if he can’t ever get enough of his warmth. And if it helps Crowley on days like this, when he’s pacing the bookstore and unable to settle down, well - that’s just one more reason to give in to the temptation.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Aziraphale asks as he slowly moves his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Along the side of his head, to the back of his neck, and back up toward his forehead. Crowley shudders.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice husky and not very convincing.

Aziraphale rests his other hand on Crowley’s cheek. Crowley leans into his touch, pressing closer, just a hint of desperation in his movements. It’s like this simple touch just isn’t enough, at least not on days like this one. And maybe it isn’t. Aziraphale is sure Crowley would never say it out loud, would never ask, never demand, never push. Not when he knows that Aziraphale has limits, the boundaries clearly stated before they started whatever it is they’re doing. Not when he knows that sometimes, the angel just needs time to get comfortable and catch up with him. But when he sees Crowley like this, restless and anxious and desperately pretending to be okay although he clearly isn’t, Aziraphale wants to give him everything he could ever wish for. He craves it, to see Crowley happy and content, to give him the comfort he needs that both Heaven and Hell have denied him for all of his existence.

Aziraphale gets up with a start and snaps his fingers. Behind them, the door locks and the blinds lower, shielding them from outside. Crowley sits up straight, obviously confused by the sudden lack of contact, and blinks up at Aziraphale.

“Angel?” he asks, a hint of insecurity in his voice. He moves to get up, but Aziraphale steps between his legs and gently guides him back down with a light pressure on his shoulders. Without hesitating any longer, Aziraphale straddles Crowley’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. Crowley’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open, but his hands move to grab Aziraphale’s hips all the same.

“What are you doing?” Crowley finally manages to ask.

“I want,” Aziraphale begins, cupping Crowley’s face in his hands, “to touch you. If you don’t mind, that is.”

Crowley hesitates, as if he’s unsure if Aziraphale is serious. But when Aziraphale doesn’t budge, something in his features relaxes. “Please,” Crowley rasps and Aziraphale smiles. His thumbs brush over Crowley’s cheeks.

“I love you”, he says and presses his lips down to Crowley’s.

Kissing is quite new as well, but they’ve become rather good at it in the past weeks, Aziraphale muses. It’s so easy to fall into this rhythm - lips moving against the other’s, first slow and gentle, then coaxing and teasing, bodies pressing closer. Crowley practically melts beneath him, gripping him tighter, as if he’s drowning in the love and affection Aziraphale pours into the kiss and desperately needs him to hold on. Aziraphale moves his fingers back into Crowley’s hair, scraping along his scalp. Their lips part for a second while Crowley lets out low, satisfied groan, and Aziraphale deepens the kiss, chasing after these most exquisite sounds.

Crowley kisses him back like his life depends on it, all eager and responsive and completely engrossed in the pleasure of it. As if he’d be completely content to stay like this for an eternity. Aziraphale allows himself a smug smile that he has this effect on the demon who hadn’t been able to sit still for mere five minutes all morning. It sends a thrill down his spine, that he has this kind of power over him, and Aziraphale has do admit that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t doing this purely for Crowley’s benefit.

When he feels Aziraphale’s smile against his lips, Crowley pulls back, panting although he technically doesn’t have to breathe. “What?” he asks, breathless, and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing, my dear,” Aziraphale says, running his hands down Crowley’s neck. His hands settle on his shoulders, fingers curling around the lapels of his jacket. He pushes it off Crowley’s shoulders and the demon helps to shrug it off. Aziraphale leans back down as soon as the garment hits the floor somewhere behind him. He presses a kiss to Crowley’s cheek, and then another one. “You’re beautiful like this,” Aziraphale whispers.

Crowley lets out a strangled sound from the back of his throat, as if his brain short-circuited while trying to come up with an answer, and burrows his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale wraps his arms around him, holding him close and pressing another kiss to the top of his head. He feels Crowley’s hot breath against his skin.

“Too much?” Aziraphale asks, but Crowley only shakes his head and tightens his arms around his waist.

Aziraphale holds him until his breathing is calm, and then he kisses his hair, his forehead and his temple, everywhere he can reach until Crowley relaxes again and slumps back. He looks up at Aziraphale with such affection and longing in his eyes that Aziraphale feels a pang of regret that they’ve waited so very long to do this. He’s suddenly more than determined to make up for lost time.

He carefully watches Crowley’s face as he slips his hands under his shirt. Crowley’s eyes widen, his head lolling back in pleasure. Gently, Aziraphale brushes his fingertips over the naked skin of Crowley’s hips. Skin he hadn’t dared to touch before, and that is so wonderfully soft and warm beneath his hands. This is uncharted territory, and he hesitates for a second.

“Go on,” Crowley presses out, barely audible. Oh so slowly, Aziraphale moves his hands, stroking over Crowley’s hips along his stomach to his chest. A shudder runs through Crowley, a moan escaping his lips. Fascinated, Aziraphale watches the pleasure in Crowley’s features, the way his mouth hangs open, the way his pupils dilate.

Aziraphale has to admit that he’s never quite understood sex before and is sure he never will. He’s never felt the urge to engage in it, never quite saw the point. But now, when he touches Crowley and when he watches Crowley being touched, he thinks that for the first time in 6000 years he’s getting a glimpse why many humans enjoy this form of intimacy.

He moves his hands back down Crowley’s chest, adding a little bit of a scratch with his fingernails that makes Crowley go slack beneath him, and grabs the hem of his shirt.

“Can I take this off?” Aziraphale asks, pressing another kiss to Crowley’s lips.

The sound Crowley makes is something between a whine and a groan. “Yes, yes, just do it already, please.”

Aziraphale smiles against his lips, still not moving his hands. He brushes their noses together. “I just want to make sure.”

Crowley groans in frustration. “Do you want to hear me beg? Is that it?”

Aziraphale sits back enough to see Crowley’s face. The desire he sees in his eyes makes him smirk, makes him confident in a way he hadn’t anticipated. “I wouldn’t be too opposed to that,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes.

“ _Aziraphale_.” This time, it’s definitely a whine.

Aziraphale takes pity on him. He pulls up the shirt, but before he can push it over Crowley’s head, the demon grabs his wrists and stops him. Confused, Aziraphale searches his face, stilling above him. “Crowley?”

Crowley is breathing hard, not meeting his eyes. “I know what you’re doing,” he finally says through gritted teeth. “And it’s just- I mean… you don’t have to.”

Aziraphale’s face softens. He rests his palm on Crowley’s cheek, relishing the way the demon’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into him. “I know, my dear,” Aziraphale says softly. “This is not you asking, this is me offering.”

“I don’t want to be selfish,” Crowley mutters, but loosens his grip on Aziraphale’s wrists.

“This might be the most un-demonic thing you’ve said this week.” Aziraphale kisses him again, long and slow, before tugging up Crowley’s shirt another time. When the demon doesn’t resist this time, Aziraphale finally pulls the garment off and throws it aside. Holding his breath, he runs his hands over Crowley’s naked shoulders. “Please don’t worry about that, my dear. I take the greatest pleasure from all the delightful little sounds you make.” His hands wander lower, over Crowley’s chest, and the demon utters a moan when he grazes his nipples. Aziraphale smiles, pleased with himself. “Yes, exactly like this one. Lovely.”

Gently, Aziraphale pushes Crowley down the couch until he’s stretched out on his back. Fingers are replaced by lips as he starts pressing kisses to Crowley’s shoulders. He takes his time to explore every little bit of skin he can reach. Kisses Crowley’s shoulders, his collarbone, his wrists and his knuckles, his stomach and his chest. Every touch of his lips seems to drain the last remaining bits of tension out of Crowley. The demon is relaxed beneath him, boneless and satisfied, little sounds of pleasure escaping his lips every now and then. Aziraphale can’t help but feeling smug. This is exactly what he wanted to achieve: shower Crowley in love and affection and gentle, reassuring touches until all the dark thoughts that had been plaguing him earlier were gone.

Aziraphale miracles his own shirt away and moves up Crowley’s body, his tongue peaking out for a taste of his skin. Feeling Crowley’s naked chest against his is nothing short of divine, and Aziraphale gasps at the unexpected sensation. Crowley swallows the gasp by pressing his lips to Aziraphale’s, readily opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Hesitantly, he reaches out to touch Aziraphale, his finger’s moving down his back until they settle on his hips. He toys with the belt for a moment and suddenly hesitates. Aziraphale breaks the kiss and stills above him, waiting for him to speak up.

“Do you, err…” Crowley begins, not meeting the angel’s eyes and instead burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Do you want to, you know, make an effort?”

Aziraphale lets out a thoughtful hum against Crowley’s hair and gently removes his hands from his belt. “Not particularly, no.”

Crowley lets out a breath against Aziraphale’s skin. “Okay.”

“Do you want to?” Aziraphale asks, peppering kisses down the side his face, moving towards his neck. “You can, you know, even if I don’t. I don’t mind.”

“Err… no. Maybe another time.” Crowley gasps as Aziraphale nips on his neck. “This is nice as it is.”

Aziraphale pulls back with a smirk. “Really? Nice? That four letter word?”

“Oh, shut up angel. Put your mouth to better use,” Crowley groans, but without any malice. His words sound more like a whine, longing and slightly desperate.

Aziraphale smiles. He’s happy to oblige.


End file.
